


Didn't Change a Thing

by crestfaller



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: (kinda? mid-forming-of-relationship might be more accurate), Angst, Barry's POV, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Dangers of Time Travel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Lewis Snart's A+ Parenting, M/M, Post-Episode: s01e03 Blood Ties of Legends of Tomorrow, Pre-Relationship, Protective Barry Allen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28600833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crestfaller/pseuds/crestfaller
Summary: Len tried to go back in time to stop Lewis Snart from ever laying a hand on him and his sister. Maybe it would have made him unrecognizable even to himself, but it would have stopped Lisa from ever feeling the brunt of a belt-buckle from their own father, and that alone made the risk worth it.Only, all that effort, and he and Mick didn't change a thing. Len's got the same scars down to the number, down to the impact of the blow. And he's sure Lisa's got them too.So Mick calls Barry Allen to board the Waverider.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Leonard Snart
Comments: 15
Kudos: 143





	Didn't Change a Thing

**Author's Note:**

> One day, I will write something that is not so angsty. But today is not that day. 
> 
> Spoilers for Season 1 Episode 3: Blood Ties of Legends of Tomorrow.

Time travel used to be such an exciting possibility. Impossibility. Fantasy, if Barry was being honest.

He remembered as a kid the only “arts and humanities” class he enjoyed immensely was history. The textbooks were massive but he’d tackled the class like it was a comic book; had his thousand different highlighters and chart notes in the margins, keeping the things that truly piqued his interest in a notebook he’d kept private. At night, long after he was supposed to be asleep, he’d be underneath the covers with a flashlight in his mouth and his notebook, planning where he’d go first. With faulty science from television shows mixed with theories he’d googled, he’d deep-dive into his imagination and play out every fascination he could from the confines of his room.

The reality of it cast a shadow on all of his childhood daydreams. No. Poisoned it, slow, like an IV drip of ricin corrupting what happiness remained. Those memories, all that wasted time, Barry wanted it heaved from his shoulders and obliterated. Because the reality of time travel is that it does nothing but give hope that you can make things better, and then whip you for having that belief.

Having his mother die in his arms was the final nail on the coffin for that part of his childhood. Barry had too many of those — headstones in place of what once was a comfort. Most of the fond memories of youth were buried in a graveyard he rarely liked to visit. But he’d learned his lesson about time travel. Sobbed his tears, punched out his frustrations. Yet this new helplessness he hadn’t accounted for: a new opportunity to watch someone he cared for go through it all over again. There were no platitudes he could give, no assurances he could buy.

It was just time for Barry to start digging all over again.

Mick had called him. Secretly, though nothing was actually a secret on the Waverider, so Barry was pretty sure Len knew he was on board. Rip Hunter certainly did. Protested Barry’s arrival.

Rip stood, long coat and annoying fucking accent, telling him how they needed to be somewhere else, and how Rip ‘knew that he handled this alone so clearly Mr. Snart could as well, and really Mr. Snart shouldn’t have tried to do what he did’ — and Barry had enough. Flashed toward him and got right in his face, close enough that Barry saw Sara Lance debate intervening, her hand on her weapon and her stance wide, inclined toward Barry as though he were a threat. Barry had almost spat at her to _try it_ , because despite the strong warrior she was, he was still the fastest man alive and could probably dodge any blow she tried to land and he was looking for a reason to lash out for just a _moment_.

But he hadn’t. He had, however, told Rip Hunter to get out of his way or else he’d be going through him. Smartly, Rip yielded, and Ray fell in step with him shortly after.

Ray had looked baleful for a moment, but was still his usual chipper self as he led Barry through the ship — Mick had declined, though he _was_ the reason he was there — and talked about where they were going next. What they were planning on doing. The amazing possibilities of time travel. It tasted like pitch in Barry’s mouth, but he swallowed it anyway. He’d already tried to warn the Legends about the dangers of their mission, and they’d made their decision regardless. Now, his job is to just be stalwart and supportive. Last thing they need is another body telling them ‘I told you so’ after it all goes to shit. And it will all go to shit.

For Len it already had.

Walking through the Waverider, it was a picture of cleanliness, which wound Barry up. He wished that there was something like red paint or scratches on the walls to warn the Waverider’s inhabitants, but the fact of the matter was the ship was as exciting and picturesque like the Enterprise. It was like he’d always dreamed.

Part of him just wanted to run through the ship at full speed and figure out where Len was on his own, but Ray had offered, and he knew he should be at least a _little_ respectful of Rip Hunter’s wishes. He’s got no desire to burn a bridge with another person who could alter the timeline.

Ray continued to make light conversation, undeterred by Barry’s distracted responses. His gaze was trained ahead, trying to make them walk quicker with each turn of hallway they took, each step. They’d started off leisurely, Barry walking at Ray’s pace, but toward the end Barry could tell Ray was having a hard time keeping up.

“We’re here,” Ray breathed. “Gideon, can you open the door?”

“Mr. Snart has requested the bunk remain locked until he gives his next directive. Perhaps —”

“Gideon,” Barry interrupted. “Initiate master override and open the door to Leonard Snart’s bunk, please.”

There were perks to knowing that he would invent Gideon one day. That even over Rip, he had control. He didn't plan to use such privileges often, but, he had to admit that in this moment he was glad for the knowledge. 

“Of course, Mr. Allen.” The sound of machinery whirring and hydraulics decompressing, and the door unlocked.

Ray blinked in surprise at Barry, but no one spoke. Len’s gaze was already trained on the door, eyes narrowed on Barry as he took a single step, putting himself just outside the threshold to Len’s room.

“Oh great. The Flash is here,” he drawled.

Barry scanned him. As per usual, anyone who just paid a cursory glance to Len would think he was fine, but Barry knew better. The man was exhausted. The way he was hunched over himself was more slumped than typical, there was a crinkle to his expression to show that though he was alert and awake it was taking a lot of effort.

In turn, Len’s eyebrow hiked up, as though he was surprised to see Barry standing before him. It was just for effect. He’d almost surely knew Barry was coming, probably heard him out the door talking to Ray even if his responses had been short. Probably debated fleeing in some way, before deciding that on the Waverider, Barry would find him eventually. Or just ask Gideon to let Barry know where he was hiding.

“I’ll… leave you to it," Ray said, a nervous laugh just to fill the silence. 

“Best you do, Raymond.”

“Thanks, Ray.”

The door slid shut, the seal a mechanical whir that Barry felt in his spine. The air was thick and cold, somehow still making Barry sweat.

If Barry thought the Waverider was clean, Len’s room was pristine. Nothing out of place, much like his safe houses, everything neatly stored and put away. What notes were out on his little desk were so neat and clean it was as though Len was appealing to an aesthetic choice rather than ‘leaving clutter’. 

Barry wasn’t sure where to start. To begin from the very beginning, about how he had pitted a lot of his own hopes onto time travel and had them subsequently crushed, or to start much much later, to say just what brought him here to this moment with Len.

Didn’t get the chance to figure out the best tactic. Len beat him to it.

“Gotta say, I haven’t missed the Flash’s righteous indignation,” he spat. Shifting himself so that the hard lines of his shoulders were in a point, a threatening appearance concocted out of Len’s body. Then he slumped again. “Though, I imagine a hero’s got to get his fix, and it has been awhile.”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

Len turned away from him, leaning further back on his bunk, a facade of relaxation. “Shame. I don’t recommend lying, Barry, you’re no good at it. You’re all wound up, I can see it. So tell me, what’s got the Scarlet Speedster at my door? What lecture have you got for me this time?”

It was true, Barry was wound up. His heart was hammering against his chest, ticking faster and faster like a clock about to spin wild. Still, he tried to keep his voice calm.

“No lecture.”

“Ah, you hero-types like to call them speeches, right? Little monologues about how good will always triumph, the light versus the dark. I think you all watched a bit too much fantasy as kids, boxing things up into such simple terms. Though I’ll admit, it does sound catchy.”

“Len —”

“Let me guess, this speech is about changing the timeline? How messing with the past could have ruined everything?” He got a wry smile, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “How I’m a selfish bastard for knowing that and going for it anyway?”

Len and all his damn walls, with all their artillery at the ready to blast. It made Barry itch. And because of that, he didn’t think through his next words:

“You didn’t change anything.”

The room got real quiet then. Even Barry’s heart seemed to stop. He couldn’t hear the blood rushing in his ears as Len stared him down.

“How do you know?” Len asked. “You’re looking at me all doe-eyed, Scarlet, but in my timeline I hate your guts and want to kill you where you stand.”

If Barry let the pity show on his face, this conversation was dead in the water. Still, his lungs were burning and his heart was collapsing in on itself. Len couldn’t even _lie_.

He shook his head. “No, you don’t”

Len blinked. His poor ruse shattered in an instant, not that it was convincing in the first place. “I don’t.”

That was as much an invitation as Barry would get. He took a step. Another. Len drew his legs up and recoiled back toward the wall of the bunk as Barry got closer, but he kept himself broad. Stared Barry down as Barry’s hip came in contact with his bed, his fingers tapping against the mattress.

A question: _can I sit_?

A deep sigh resonated deep in Len’s chest, and he nodded once. When Barry moved, though, Len stiffened and gripped his fingers tight into his jeans. Barry kept a safe distance between them, scooting back toward the opposite wall at the foot of Len’s bunk. Wanted to say a thousand different platitudes - _it's okay, it's just me, it's going to be okay_ \- but he wasn't sure that any of that was true, and Len would only get angry. 

Once the bed sank and settled, Len re-stabilized. He took back on his calm and collected and relaxed persona, but kept his 'Len bubble'.

Barry didn’t mind.

“Shouldn’t say things like that.”

Barry furrowed his eyebrows. “You’re nothing like him, Len.” 

Len veered out of that conversation _fast_. “I don’t see how Hunter thinks we’re going to be able to change his future when we can’t even change our own past. I think he must have overcorrected.” His tone was chilly Captain Cold, and he wouldn’t meet Barry’s eye. 

Len seemed to be forgetting that Barry was used to this tone. That it didn't effect him. Didn't intimidate him much, not anymore. So he just pushed on through and asked, “what do you mean?”

He rolled out his sharp shoulders and braced himself like a fort, the jut of Len's body sharp and angled wide. This hitching noise came out of his mouth, a scoff playing as a laugh.

“Rip may pilot this ship like an imbecile but he did his research. When he selected people who he could pluck out of 2016 that don't make a difference, I have a feeling he was also correcting in case we tried to do shit in the past. To our own timelines.” Len’s gaze kept skittering back and forth, like reading a page, parsing through Rip's actions, trying to figure out the motive. “He knew the selfish stuff we’d try, had to. Mick and I were flight risks from the beginning, but that’s not a problem if there’s not actually that much being _risked_.”

A stone settled in Barry’s gut. Len laughed, but it lacked any and all mirth, and Barry knew that he felt it too. 

Len was rarely wrong about these things. Rip Hunter had selected them because they supposedly did nothing in their own futures — and Barry was incredibly curious what _Rip Hunter_ thought was “impactful” to the timeline, but now was not the time to hold him down and ask — but he never thought that Rip would have selected people who couldn’t change their own past. Never thought he'd account for that. 

The force of his analysis brought Len to stand, but Barry didn’t follow. Gave him his space, instead watching as Len pieced his thoughts together. Len began to pace, muttering to himself little discoveries, each one making the hairs on the back of Barry's neck stand up. 

Finally, Len stopped, scraped both hands on the back of his neck, clawing the skin raw.

“Rip had to know I’d try. And had to know it wouldn’t matter.” Another empty laugh. “Joke’s on me.”

Len sank to the floor, but maintained a crouch. One hand behind his neck, another one near the holster of his Cold Gun. Even in vulnerability, Len was always a livewire. Always dangerous. In a strange way, Barry appreciated that about him, though he would never admit it. When he was the Flash, he tried to do the same thing. Because Barry couldn’t always hide the hurt, his true feelings, his Achilles’ Heel — but he could try to ensure that, like Len, it wasn’t used against him.

He wasn't near as good at it as Len was, but he could try. 

But he wasn’t the Flash right now, not really. He was Barry Allen, and Len had managed to freeze him up in this entirely different way.

Part of him wanted to zip out of the room and punch Rip Hunter as fast and hard as he could. In fact, Rip would be lucky if that was the only thing Barry did to him. The last time he had thoughts as violent as he was picturing doing to Rip Hunter he was possessed by Rainbow Raider.

The other part, the dominating part, couldn’t stop staring at Len. For the first time Barry felt kind of lucky in a sick, twisted way. At least when he left his mother to die all over again, he was covered in blood, the knowledge that he’d went through a trauma all over his skin as a brand he could never forget. But what did Len get? A heaping mound of disappointment that he can’t bring himself to swallow, for fear that the rest of the Legends view him as anything other than invulnerable. Len has nothing to show for his efforts: he already knew his father was a bastard, has it etched into his skin. Nothing new came out of this. The way that Len was holding some of the scars on his arms, the beatings down to the impact were exactly the same.

There was nothing he could hold with his hands or sound out with his mouth. It all made Barry cold.

Barry lowered himself from Len’s bed to the floor where he was squatting. Bent down to Len's eye-level. Kept his fingertips on the ground, within Len’s scope, but not near him, not invading his space yet. 

“You wanted me to be a hero, Scarlet?” Len asked. His tone harsh. “Look where it got me. Your gig is nothing but garbage.”

“Never said it wasn’t,” Barry said with a small voice. Tried to sound humorous, but he couldn’t quite get it there. “But you’re still here,” he added. 

“Who said I'm not leaving?”

Barry frowned, and Len took another deep breath, the creaking aches filling the room. In the breath was another concession, and one that admittedly stung Barry’s eyes: Len wasn’t leaving. He’d never left jobs half-finished and wasn’t going to start now.

Barry wanted him to come home. Back to 2016. Time travel is _dangerous_ , and this team is reckless, which is saying something coming from him. This time maybe nothing changed, but what if the next time Len wipes himself out of existence? What will Lisa do, if that happens? What will Barry do? 

Now's not the time for all of those protests, though. Now's the time for Barry to swallow them down - burning like vomit, like acid, back down his throat - and just be here. 

Resigned, Len said, “Not like what I’ve done here has been heroic.”

“You tried to better you and your sister’s lives,” Barry said. “I never asked you to be self-sacrificing." Len snorted, incredulous, but Barry was serious and he wanted Len to know it. "I went back to try to save my mom. Didn't work, but... Honestly if you never thought about trying, I would have asked what the hell was wrong with you.”

“But you didn’t save your mother because it would’ve changed the timeline. Blinked away too much out of existence to justify. I didn’t bother to check.” 

“Don’t kid yourself, Len,” Barry said. Bitterness he’d long kept locked away coming out to play, but he clenched his fist and tried to reign it in. “If it had just changed some things around, I would have saved her life. I’m not that selfless.”

“Doubt it.” Len dug his fingernails into his neck, red and raw and starting to prickle with blood, and Barry couldn’t handle it anymore. He reached forward to cover the back of Len’s neck with his hand.

Len froze, his hand trembling where Barry blocked it.

“You’re hurting yourself,” Barry murmured. Rubbed his thumb along Len’s hairline, soothing over the hot-red marks on the back of his neck. His grip was shaky, though. He knew he wasn’t doing a good enough job masking the fact that he was afraid; hopefully Len was receptive enough to realize that Barry wasn’t afraid _of_ him, but afraid _for_ him.

Len nodded. Dropped his hand to the ground. Stared at Barry like he was some mythical thing. Barry knew that he didn't like to be touched, but he couldn't bring himself to let go. It was good, to feel him warm and alive underneath his own hand.

“Guess Lewis Snart was always destined to be a bastard.” Len placed his hand over Barry's, pressing down, but then let go. Barry thought he'd try to pry him off, but he didn't, which made Barry's heart feel just a bit lighter, despite Len's asking, “Ever think that’s all I’m destined to be, too?”

“No.” The answer came so simply that it seemed to even surprise Len, but Barry breezed through without drawing attention to it. With his free hand, Barry pulled Len’s hand into his. “Len. Talk to me.”

Len deflected, but he did talk, which _was_ all that Barry asked for. He looked away as he spoke. “Beer bottles were everywhere in that damn house. I remembered it being dirty, but I thought — I don’t know what I thought.” The room fell into silence again, but Barry just waited. He’d wait forever if he had to, Rip and his agenda be damned.

Eventually, Len said so softly, “Better or worse, I just know I remembered it different than what it was. Could’ve been a nice house if he didn’t trash the place.”

“Did you try to clean it?”

Len’s attention switched back to Barry, suspicious. “I did. How -" he shook out whatever his train of thought was, but Barry could guess. "Why do you ask?”

Barry shrugged. “Just realizing I know you better than I thought I did.” Barry looked around Len’s cabin on the Waverider. “I mean, look at this room. It’s spotless.”

“Haven’t been here that long.”

Barry applied pressure to each individual finger on the back of Len’s neck, keeping secure, keeping safe. The hand in the iron grip he brought close to his chest. He wanted to pull it up to kiss, but he was pretty sure Len would tear his hand away if he tried.

“You’re not like Lewis. You are not destined to become Lewis Snart. You’re different everywhere it’s important. You went back to try to help your mom and Lisa —”

“And myself,” Len chimed in.

“And yourself. Nothing wrong with wanting to save yourself from something terrible.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Len’s adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, hard. “Like you said. Didn’t change anything.”

Barry couldn’t hold back the words anymore, “Len, I’m so sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Len dismissed them immediately.

“Of course it does.”

“It doesn’t — it _can’t_.”

Barry gave a small nod and a soft smile. Encouraging best he could. He wouldn’t dare ask for anything more. Wouldn’t keep pushing. Even though they both knew it mattered a whole hell of a lot.

Len reciprocated the smile, but only for a moment. A stern expression passed over his face, and then, before Barry could stop him, Len’s rolled his free arm back and punched at the ground, the sound a harsh _smack_.

“Fuck!”

He wound up and did it again. And again. Finally, Barry shook himself out of his own shock and sped through, grabbing Len’s fist, lacing his fingers gingerly, feeling the tendons in Len’s hand throb.

“No matter what I do. We’ve got a damn time ship. We’ve got the ability to stop atrocities, to save lives, and yet when it comes to helping ourselves, _fuck_ , we can’t do anything. We can’t do a damn thing.”

Len curled inward. Wrapping his arms around himself, and in turn also wrapping Barry’s arms around him.

“Hey,” Barry said softly, hugging Len to his chest.

“It didn’t change anything.”

“I know.”

“My old man was angry, Barry. A real angry son of a bitch.” Len said quietly. He was shaking, hard. It made Barry unable to breathe. “And so am I.”

Barry closed in, tucking his chin against Len’s throat and holding him close. Len choked, but he tightened his grip on Barry’s hands. Whether he intended to accept Barry's hug or was just trying to get himself to calm his tremors, Barry wasn't sure, but he tried to be something solid. A port in a storm, if he could be. 

“It’s not about whether you’re angry or not. It’s about what you do with it. And you protect those you care about.”

“I’ve hurt you,” Len protested. “Took pleasure in it.”

“I’ve hurt you, too. It was part of our game, and when it wasn’t, you had your reasons and I had mine.” Once upon a time, Barry had hated Len for what he did to him at Ferris Air. Now, after having the whole story, Len’s decision really couldn’t come as a shock. “Can’t say I blame you.”

Len shuffled again, like he was thinking to push Barry off of him, but then his face crumbled and he pressed his face into his knees. “It didn’t change _anything_.”

Barry kissed his shoulder and hugged him tight, both as a comfort and to hide that he himself was shaking too. This was a bit too reminiscent to the blood on his hands, to his mother’s lolling head, to the man in yellow. But this wasn’t some super powered speedster. The villain this time was all too tangible, all too human. Len and Lisa’s abuse was something that should have been stopped the first time around, if anyone had paid any attention. If Lewis hadn’t been an untouchable schmooze who’d learned not to leave marks on his children where people could see.

Len’s hurt _should_ have been preventable. Should have been reversible, easy. Yet Len, who had his hands on all sorts of strings ever since, still couldn’t go back and change that. Not for him. Not for his sister. Not for anything.

And there was nothing Barry could say to that but, “I know.”

Barry kissed Len’s head and let them both cave downward into the floor of the Waverider. Eyes shut tight, gripping each other in less of a hug and more of a brace, as though they needed to be folded together or else they’d fall apart.

There were no more words after that. Len stayed wrapped into himself, clutching Barry’s arms to him, and Barry held on tight, letting his long lanky body cover Len best he could. Protect him from the world, even if for a few more moments. No one should ever see this. In Len's ideal, Barry probably shouldn't have witnessed this either, but Barry was here, and he wasn't going to leave him all alone. There was plenty of time for that, since Len was staying on the Waverider.

For now, Barry just wanted them to exist in the space for a moment. Let Len feel like time had stopped for a moment, just for him.

With wounds like this, though, Barry knew it would never be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually one of the first things I wrote for this fandom (this episode and its implications GOT to me, but that's another story); I thought it might be fun to finally post it after some tweaks. 
> 
> Your reading and commenting makes my day, so thank you very much! :)


End file.
